


Marked

by AuroraNova



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, M/M, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-07
Updated: 2019-06-07
Packaged: 2020-04-12 07:34:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19127476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuroraNova/pseuds/AuroraNova
Summary: Garak never had a chance to see his entire soulmark before Tain had it removed. Anyway, his soulmate can't be Dr. Bashir, who certainly would have mentioned if his own mark said Garak's name.





	Marked

**Author's Note:**

> And now for something completely different. I've never written soulmates before, but this idea bit and wouldn't let go.
> 
> Another case of "if ignoring Garak's attempted genocide was good enough for the show's writers, it's good enough for me."

Garak was twelve when his mark came in. He knew it was there before he could see it, because he felt the tell-tale warmth spread over a patch of skin, like everyone said would happen to those fortunate enough to have a soulmate. He proudly showed the back of his neck to his mother.

“It’s a mark, isn’t it?” he asked. “What’s the name?”

She didn’t tell him, just paled and made him promise not to show anyone. He agreed, then hurried to the mirror to try for a glimpse of the name. His soulmate’s name.

It was difficult to spot, so he fetched another mirror. After some experimenting with the angles, he saw part of the name, and it wasn’t Cardassi. Some strange looping text had appeared on his skin, which was more than a bit alarming. If your soulmate was an alien, odds were good you’d have to leave Cardassia Prime to be together. The outer Union worlds were more tolerant, but Garak like Prime.

On the other hand, having a soulmate was supposed to be wonderful.

He’d just twisted for a better glimpse when Tain stormed in, snatched the mirror from his hand, and sternly proclaimed, “You have no soulmate.”

Garak was old enough not to point out the obvious evidence to the contrary, and to follow obediently when Tain took him to a doctor who removed all evidence from his skin. He didn’t want to lose his soulmark, but to a twelve-year-old, a soulmate was a very abstract concept, and an alien one somewhat troubling, whereas Tain’s wrath was very real. The closet, too, was an immediate concern.

So Garak nodded that he understood. He had no soulmate. He was destined for Cardassia.

All the same, that night he drew the loop he’d seen over and over, until he’d locked it in his memory where it could never be taken from him.

* * *

 

Garak had never worked with the Federation during his Order days. Internal Union matters, Bajorans, Romulans, Klingons, and the Tzenkethi, but not the Federation. He never thought much of it; after all, he’d studied certain cultures and languages. Agents specialized, and no one could specialize in everything. (Not even Tain, though he’d die before he would admit as much.)

When the Federation came to Terok Nor, newly rechristened Deep Space Nine, he applied himself to the study of their common language. Standard, they called it, though from what he understood it was derived heavily from the dominant language of the foremost founding member, Earth. Sensible, but not as egalitarian as Starfleet liked to consider itself.

It was some months into his self-teaching – which was to say, he made liberal use of the Federation’s free linguistic education computer programs – when he happened upon the concept of cursive. It seemed inefficient to have two entirely separate letter systems. Four, if one counted upper and lower case for print and cursive. Why anyone would deem that a good idea, Garak couldn’t guess.  

Then he got to the letter J. All at once, he understood why Tain had pushed him to focus on other regional powers. Among the examples listed as ‘variations of actual handwriting,’ he noticed a striking commonality to that looping script he’d glimpsed on his own skin.

His soulmate was Federation, most likely human.

He thought of Dr. Bashir, but dismissed the idea out of hand. The doctor was a delightful conversationalist with fine qualities, whose company Garak enjoyed more than he’d expected. Bashir was turning out to be far more than simply attractive, which was good, seeing how he gave no indication of being inclined to let Garak appreciate his body except from afar.

But no. Subtlety was not among the doctor’s strengths. Humans also wore the name of their soulmates on their skin, and if Bashir had recognized his own mark as Cardassi, he surely would have mentioned it.

J was a very common first letter for human names, Garak learned. It was discouraging. The only other way to be certain of his soulmate was for a bond to form, and bonds tended not to form for Cardassians without sex, or at minimum a great deal of time spent intimately. Garak couldn’t go around sleeping with every human man on the station whose name started with J. There were fifty-nine at present.

He now understood what had been taken from him, and he despaired.

* * *

 

After the unpleasant incident with the wire, he hacked into the Starfleet database to look at Bashir’s signature. Unfortunately, it was a scrawl defying legibility. Hardly the neat loop Garak remembered. Well, that was that.

He would be best served forgetting he ever had the mark. If only he could.

* * *

 

The laughable caricature of a villain in Bashir’s holoprogram left himself wide open to attack. Garak only put up with these childish programs because Bashir enjoyed them so, and spending time with the doctor was one of the few pleasures in Garak’s life.

Having been handed an invitation, Bashir promptly jumped the villain (with very bad form) and started to wrestle him for the gun. Garak did nothing. He’d learned from experience that if he intervened and put a stop to the villain too quickly, Bashir accused him of being no fun.

It was better than spending the evening alone in his quarters, and these excursions gave Garak vast troves of material from which to draw when he wanted to tease – or to flirt, not that the doctor seemed to recognize the obvious.

Bashir rolled around, ducking the villain’s sloppy attempts at punches and getting in more of his own than he ought to have. The holoprogrammer was very generous to the protagonists. Garak wondered why anyone thought a ‘tie’ was a good idea to wear when fighting. What a splendid advantage to give one’s opponent. Garak didn’t like wearing one even when the foes were holographic, though he grudgingly did when the program called for it.

Then he spotted something which erased all thoughts of neckwear from his mind. “Computer, freeze program.”

Bashir frowned up at him. “I almost had Pavlov!”

“Your mark is in Cardassi,” said Garak.

It had been quite clear on the doctor’s ankle. Garak had never noticed it before, though he’d never seen Bashir’s ankle. He probably never would have, if not for the holoprogram.

He hadn’t seen the entire mark, but the ‘ar’ character was unmistakable. A common one among Cardassian names, to be sure, and not at all certain to be part of Garak’s name. The handwriting was neat and orderly, like Garak’s own, but then Cardassians did not permit such a wide variety of penmanship as humans, so it could have been anyone’s, really.

The color drained from Bashir’s face. Rather like Mila’s had, in fact. “That’s none of your business.”

“Doctor, this is quite the surprise.”

Bashir checked to make sure his ankle was covered. If he didn’t want anyone to see, why didn’t he cover the mark better? Makeup would serve perfectly. It was what Garak would have done, if he had a soulmark he didn’t care to make public. Or had the doctor simply gotten complacent? He’d been running late that evening due to a minor medical crisis, so he might have taken a reckless risk. That certainly sounded like something Bashir would do.  

“It’s an old scar.”

“That is not a scar.” If he was going to lie, he should at least do it plausibly. “All this time, and you never let on that you have a Cardassian soulmate.” Was that why he found Garak interesting? A connection to the culture of his soulmate would make sense, if not be the reason Garak would have preferred for Bashir’s attention.

“Maybe I don’t.”

“The evidence suggests otherwise.”

“I’m not having this conversation,” said the doctor.

“You can’t begrudge my curiosity, surely.”

“I can and I do. Computer, exit.” On his way out, Bashir added, “Let me know when you decide to follow the Golden Rule.”

Garak didn’t know what the regulation in question was. There were twenty minutes of Bashir’s time left on the holosuite, and it seemed a shame to waste them seeing how Quark didn’t give refunds, so Garak switched to a sauna program in order to get the doctor’s credits’ worth.

Back in his quarters, out of that ridiculous costume, he looked up the Golden Rule. “Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.” Garak considered this. It was true that he did not appreciate intrusions into his own privacy, although he never would have left something so obvious where anyone might see it.

Still, he could see Bashir’s point. He would apologize in the morning.

* * *

 

Bashir took an early shuttle to his conference, so Garak was obliged to wait several days to tell him, “I have familiarized myself with the Golden Rule as requested.”

The doctor was not forgiving, and spent four weeks keeping his interactions with Garak to a minimum, which seemed unduly harsh. Until Garak arrived in Internment Camp 371 and it all made perfect, horrifying sense.

To the real doctor, Garak’s apology took a different form. He allowed the man to witness his final conversation with Tain, giving him potentially damaging information which explained Garak completely. It was not easy to offer such vulnerability, but he felt the doctor appreciated it. Certainly Bashir seemed to have forgiven his indiscreet interest in the mark.

All was well between them until the trip back to Deep Space Nine. While Bashir saw to Worf’s injuries, the Romulan woman (Garak hadn’t learned her name) said, “You were ingenious,” with real respect in her voice.

“Thank you,” said Garak. He was very pleased with himself, and appreciated the recognition.

“Your soulmate is stronger than he looks.”

He was so shocked, and a Tal Shiar agent so observant, that not even Garak could entirely hide his astonishment. Fortunately, she misconstrued it as surprise at having been discovered. “No one else saw his mark,” she said. “No one who could read it, anyway.”

Tain hadn’t, or Bashir would certainly have been dead. That didn’t change Garak’s fundamental horror.

He had a soulmate who knew and didn’t want him, and the worst part of it was, Garak understood. In Bashir’s place, he would have deemed a former enemy agent too risky, as well.

Perhaps he’d never needed to teach Bashir the dangers of idealism, after all. The doctor was far more pragmatic than Garak had given him credit for.

“I appreciate your discretion,” he told the Romulan. She nodded, and the conversation ceased when Martok joined them, blabbering on about his new song.

* * *

 

Garak kept his distance from Bashir, and nearly everyone, excepting only Ziyal. The doctor believed it was a mourning period, and it was. Just not the mourning Bashir thought.

The revelation made very little sense. If Bashir knew Garak was his soulmate and didn’t want to recognize the fact, why befriend him at all? Or did he think there was another Elim Garak waiting for him? He’d be sorry to learn Elim was an uncommon name.

Disappointed that the doctor wasn’t who he’d believed, Garak declined Zimmerman’s request for an interview and sequestered himself in his work.

This lasted until Ziyal marched into his shop and said, “You need to talk with Dr. Bashir.”

Garak disagreed. “I’m sure he’ll be by sooner or later worrying about my health.”

She shook her head. “Haven’t you heard? Everyone’s been talking about him all day.”

Garak had been very busy trying to track down genuine Triaxian silk. Replicators never did the material justice, and it gave him something on which to focus. More or less. He’d only had three customers, and none of them had shared news of Bashir.

“You shouldn’t hear it from me,” said Ziyal. Then she sighed. “I guess it’s better than the Promenade rumors. He’s genetically enhanced.”

“And?”

“And it’s illegal in the Federation. There are a lot of nasty rumors going around. I think he’ll assume you’re disgusted with him unless you tell him otherwise.”

It might be a convenient escape for both of them, Garak thought. “Illegal, you say?”

“His parents had it done when he was a child,” said Ziyal, “They changed all these things about him when he was too young to understand, so it’s not his fault, though it’s fair to say he knew he wasn’t allowed to join Starfleet. Don’t worry, they’re letting him stay and his father is going to prison.”

_It’s an old scar._

What was a scar? Evidence of an injury or medical procedure.

 _Maybe I don’t_.

This may have been far more complicated than Garak had imagined.

“You’re right,” he told Ziyal. “I will speak with him immediately.”

“Good. I think he needs his friends.”

Garak made his way to Bashir’s quarters, where for once the doctor asked for identification before allowing a visitor entrance.

“You heard,” said Bashir.

“Yes.”

“If you’re here to gloat about my lies, I’m not in the mood.”

“I’m not.”

“Good.”

“I’m here about your soulmark.”

Bashir’s eyes flashed with anger. “No.”

“Bremak saw it. I know it says my name.”

All the fight went out of the doctor, who slumped back on his couch. “So? I’ve had it since I was four years old.”

“Since before your genes were altered,” said Garak.

“Yes, fine, are you happy now? You could have had a soulmate, if my parents hadn’t decided to have some rogue geneticists play God, and I’m sorry, but there’s nothing I can do about that.”

How was it Bashir could be an unmatched genius when it came to medical matters, and never consider that perhaps his mark was genuinely indicative?

Garak walked to the replicator. “One piece of paper and a pen.”

“What are you doing?” asked Bashir.

For the first time since that night so many years ago, Garak sketched out what little of his soulmark he’d seen. Then he handed the paper to Bashir. “I had a soulmark. It was on the back of my neck, and I didn’t get to see the whole thing before Tain took me to have it surgically removed.”

Bashir looked at him, shocked. “That’s why you never said anything. I took your silence as proof my mark was leftover from before.” Then he took the pen and signed his name. The first letter matched what Garak had seen.

“The neater version of my signature, when I want it to be legible,” explained the doctor.

“You said the mark was a scar, and I thought you were lying, but you didn’t believe yourself to be.” He considered it a relic, of all things. Garak shook his head. “You’ve missed the obvious.”

“Which is?”

“That a soulmark indicates something beyond our understanding. They appear when we’re young, before our personalities have formed into the people we will be. Thus, whatever genetic tinkering you underwent would be already known by whatever force creates the marks in the first place.”

“But…”

Garak was not in the mood for excuses. “There is, of course, one way to be sure.”

“How romantic.”

“If you truly need your insipid human romance, we won’t have to worry about a bond forming, will we?”

Bashir answered by kissing him.

Some minutes later, when Garak had Bashir’s length in his mouth, he felt that same warmth he had years ago, accompanied this time by a tingling sense of connection. Bashir’s eyes flew open. “Garak…”

“I think it’s time you call me Elim,” he said, smiling. Then he rolled to present his neck. “Tell me, my dear. Is this your name?”

“Yes.” Julian traced it reverently. “I can feel the bond forming. Oh, God, I wasted so much time.”

“Perhaps neither of us was ready,” said Garak, and he even felt that was true. They’d both had secrets too dangerous to risk being brought into the open.

“I’m sorry,” said Julian.

“You have nothing to be sorry for.” If Tain hadn’t taken his mark, Garak could’ve rectified the situation years ago. Would he have? It was impossible to say. He might have let pragmatic considerations or his secrets silence him.

Garak admired his own name on Julian’s ankle. Now that he could see the entirety, it was definitely his handwriting. He added a small flourish to the ‘ak’ character which was unusual and present on Julian’s mark. “I hope this has put your doubts to rest.”

Julian looked at him with breathtaking adoration. “Definitively.”

“I realize I am an inconvenient soulmate for a Starfleet officer.”

“It’s not as though they’re going to let me head up Starfleet Medical now,” said Julian. “We’ll figure it out.”

“I think we need a more thorough plan than your optimism.”

“And we can work on that. Later,” said Julian, with a meaningful gaze at Garak’s arousal.

“I suppose there’s time,” Garak conceded.

He could feel their connection growing in strength as they explored each other’s bodies, and Garak knew that no matter what difficulties they faced, he would have the strongest motivation to fight for his soulmate.

When Julian said, “I’m going to come,” Garak replied, “Bite me. Hard.”

Julian, thankfully, complied without argument as he reached completion buried in Garak, marking him inside and out as Garak enjoyed his own orgasmic bliss. At that moment, the soulbond completed. They belonged to each other. Garak belonged to someone who didn’t also owe allegiance to Cardassia.

Then again, at present, neither did he. Not to Cardassia as a Dominion puppet.

He was no longer alone in the universe, and there was no one with whom he’d even consider being pleased to share such an intimate connection other than Julian. _His_ Julian, now, who was looking down at him with a sated grin.

“I’m putting in for my bond leave.”

“What?”

“Bond leave. Starfleet gives a week off whenever someone’s soulbond forms.”

“How indulgent. You realize everyone will know.”

“Let them talk,” said Julian. “They’re already talking about me, and they’ll gossip more when you move.”

“Why am I moving?” Garak asked, rather thrilled at the prospect of living with Julian. It would be worth the gossip, as the arrangement would allow him to protect his soulmate better.

“Because I have senior staff quarters which are fifty-two and a half percent larger than yours. Don’t worry. We’ll turn the heat up and the lights down.” Julian nestled beside him. “If it were anything but a soulbond, people would say it’s too fast. That I’ve just suffered a trauma and had my life upended, and I’m not saying I haven’t. This, though,” he reached over to trace his name on Garak’s neck, “is undeniable. So if you’re willing to put up with my present nightmares, I want you here.”

“If you’re willing to consent to my security measures, I want to be here.”

“After being abducted by the Dominion, security measures sound like an excellent idea.”

Garak took a moment to enjoy the thrumming connection between them, something not even Tain had been able to withhold from him forever. A soulbond was known to be one of the most powerful forces in the universe. Every species recognized it in some fashion or another. Cardassians celebrated with particularly elaborate weddings, but that seemed unimportant.

“Does this mean I can look forward to the cessation of you pursuing others?” he asked.

“Of course,” said Julian. “Though I’m not opposed to bringing the occasional guest to our bed eventually, if you’re interested in doing that together.”

“Perhaps.” He was willing to consider it in the future, when he felt less of the possessiveness which was a hallmark of Cardassian bond formation. Right now the thought of sharing Julian was intolerable.

“I’m sorry for letting my issues surrounding the genetic resequencing keep us apart.”

“And I’m sorry I had a father determined to keep us apart,” replied Garak. “Let’s not worry over the past.”

“Then I’ll tell you something else you might find interesting. I read Cardassi.”

Garak was indeed intrigued. “Since when?”

“I learned the basic alphabet when I was a teenager and I figured out what language my mark is. The rest, a few years ago during a slow spell in the infirmary while waiting for my research projects to progress.”

“And to think, all these years I’ve been giving you translations.”

“You know why I couldn’t tell you,” said Julian, needlessly apologetic.

“Oh, I’m not concerned over your commendable self-protection. I’m simply considering the possibilities.”

“I don’t speak a word, and I can’t understand anything spoken, either, but I read well. I actually read a couple of the sloppier translations you gave me in the original Cardassi.”

“How positively delightful.”

“You’re really not mad? About the enhancements, or the lies?”

“We do not view genetic enhancements as problematic on Cardassia, though I’ll grant you’re supposed to be either in the womb or an adult. As for the lies, really, my dear, if there’s one thing I understand it’s lying to protect oneself.” After momentarily weighing the risk, he added, “I’d have thought my lies would concern you.”

“They would have, in the beginning. But now I know what I need to. So long as you don’t lie to me about important matters impacting our relationship, I won’t demand all your secrets.”

Garak sighed theatrically. “I suppose I’ll have to adapt.” They both knew constant lies of real significance would create bond stress, and bond stress had detrimental, obvious health effects.

“Feel free to continue to entertain me with your stories and puzzles,” said Julian, and Garak felt better about this truth business.

* * *

 

The O’Briens insisted on having them over for dinner. Garak was confident the idea originated with Professor O’Brien, not her husband, but to the chief’s credit, he was polite all evening.

As Julian had said, it was hard to argue with a soulbond.

Molly O’Brien was apparently enamored of fairy tales, as she requested a Cardassian one. Garak heavily edited a traditional tale for human sensibilities. He very much doubted the O’Briens would appreciate him telling their daughter a story meant to reinforce the importance of not aspiring above one’s station in life.

“That went well,” said Julian on the way back to his quarters. Or rather, their quarters, now.

“Indeed. Chief O’Brien managed not to glare at all while I spoke with his daughter.”

“Miles is trying. And you didn’t bait him, so you are too.”

“Entirely for your benefit, my dear.”

“I know. Thank you. We should have them over once you’re settled in.”

Garak’s possessions were presently in the midst of being arranged. They were all in Julian’s quarters, but the business of cohabitating required additional work that could have been accomplished that afternoon, except he and Julian got distracted and ended up having sex instead.

Not thrilled with the idea of a young child given free reign among his belongings, he asked, “Might I suggest an adults-only evening?”

“I’ll talk to Miles.”

“And on a separate occasion, I’d like to invite Ziyal to share a meal in our quarters.”

“You never had her over to your quarters before.”

“Of course I didn’t. It would have been inappropriate.” A single man of Garak’s age hosting a single young woman of Ziyal’s would give an entirely mistaken impression. Now that he was quite obviously partnered, Ziyal could visit him with propriety.

“I see,” said Julian. “The rules are different now.”

“You have a habit of changing everything, I’ve found,” Garak replied, making clear with his tone that he meant the remark in utmost fondness.

Julian smiled, and Garak could feel the perfect synchronicity of their bond. It wasn’t telepathy, per se, and thank whatever power control soulbonds for that, but they were in harmony, and it made the gawking to which they were rudely subjected more than worthwhile.

Garak hadn’t thought he could have this. Neither, apparently, had Julian, and yet here they were. The universe was a place of vast mystery, and sometimes the unknown variables worked out splendidly.

He was still an exile, and the quadrant edged ever closer to war, but for the moment Garak was undeniably, unfamiliarly happy.


End file.
